


All on the Table

by scullyphile



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, MSR, Over the Years, Table, little moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 17:41:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5342765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scullyphile/pseuds/scullyphile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their relationship throughout the years, via the use of Scully's kitchen table. For the X-Files Writing Challenge prompt: Favorite Furnishings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All on the Table

Scully cleans her gun at her kitchen table, giant cordless phone trapped between her ear and shoulder as she talks to her partner. She can count the number of meals she’s eaten here on one hand. She eats on the couch while reading, at her desk as she types her reports, on the edge of the counter with a takeout box in her hand. At her table she cleans her gun, keeps it in good condition in order to protect herself and her partner in the field, her partner who is running around chasing bugs with another woman. Not that it should bother her.

She looks at her watch. It’s still early.

*

She picks up the empty bottle of wine, walks by the table, and rinses it in the sink before tossing it into the recycle bin. Her mind races. What had she been thinking, imagining that man could be Mulder? She pulls out one of the chairs, listening to it scrape across the floor with a grimace, and sits down heavily.

This cannot be undone, he knows you were going to kiss him if only he were different. But it wasn’t the differences in Van Blundht that made her want to bare her soul. If the real Mulder had asked, she would have told him everything, given him everything. But he won’t ask now.

She pushes her feelings down again, back to where they had rested before she thought Mulder had knocked on her door, but they don’t quite fit like they used to.

*

The table creaks as he lifts her to sit on top of it. He kisses her neck. She never allowed herself to dream of being this happy before this moment. Years of unheard thoughts and feelings bubble into her blood, blood that rushes to all the right places.

“Let’s go to the bedroom,” she says, but he ignores her, slipping his hand down her pants.

“I like it here.”

*

“And not just because we got big questions about your involvement in a certain blessed event,” Langly says. They’re all gathered around her table, talking, and they feel like a strange and perfect family. How she ever convinced these three to go along with her plan to steer Mulder away from danger she’ll never know, but she is not about to question it.

He’s not falling for it, though, and she feels guilty for even trying. Her heart had stopped beating when she thought his had, and she couldn’t go back to the feeling of an undead organ pumping in her chest. The numbness was just starting to fade. The tingling that replaced it hurt, but it was something.

*

They sit at her kitchen table as his words ricochet off of her skin. William is bouncing on her knee, cooing and drooling, unaware of what is happening. Mulder is saying he has to go, has to leave them, and she hears herself agreeing, pushing him away. She looks down at the tasseled edges of a place mat. This was supposed to be their family table. They were supposed to sit around it together.

None of that is going to happen now.

*

Mulder lifts the tarp off of the table in the storage unit, and dust fills the air.

“Take this to the new house?” he asks.

She hesitates, running her hand over its surface, all of its nicks and scrapes. “Maybe we should get a new one, give this to Goodwill.”

If he lets her, she’ll do it, but she hopes he won’t.


End file.
